Nightmares
by Marvin is my Muse
Summary: House suffers from Nightmares after the shooting in “No Reason.” Wilson helps.


**Title:** Nightmares  
**Fandom:** House M.D.  
**Characters/Pairings:** House/Wilson   
**Spoilers:** Up to "No Reason," I am currently (in this fic) pretending S3 doesn't exist.  
**Disclaimer:** I wish. I don't own anything that pretty and broken and oblivious.   
**Summary:** House suffers from Nightmares after the shooting in "No Reason." Wilson helps.

**Author's Note: **This is my first House/Wilson fic and I don't usually write ANY type of romance but this idea swooped into my head one day and I was like "hmm that would make a nice fic…." Fic is born Anyway, please tell me what you think. Thanks! -Marvin

_The man loomed over him, his figure blurred by pain. House could see his ducklings and Wilson, all frozen in a horrified trance, standing behind the unknown shithead who had just shot him. He could feel his blood, wet and runny, escaping through the agony-producing hole in his side. He could feel his precious whiteboard, broken, splintered, cutting into his back. He glanced up dazedly, the man leered as he leveled the gun at House's head, "Who'd want to hurt you?" Before the sarcasm could register, there was a piercing, exploding, agonizing mass of red hot fiery pain in his neck "hey Wilson" he slurred drunkenly, "I can't feel my leg" He gurgled, attempting laughter, before the man turned the gun on Wilson "No!" gasped House. Then there was darkness, black and suffocating. _

House's eyes shot open and he managed to sit up jerkily before the pain hit. He moaned, his hand going to his side, his neck, his leg. He glanced at the phone, the terror from the dream driving him to pick it up. He dialed the number before he realized what he was doing. He couldn't call Wilson! What would he tell him!? "Oh hey Wilson! Sorry to wake you but I thought some shithead shot you, yes I know it was weeks ago, yes I know you were never there, just thought I'd check." House snorted and immediately regretted it when his neck informed him of its opinion of such noises. "Shit" he muttered. He laid back and closed his eyes.

_The man loomed over him, his figure blurred by pain. House could see his ducklings and Wilson, all frozen in a horrified trance, standing behind the unknown shithead who had just shot him. He could feel his blood, wet and…_

"FUCK!" he yelled, once more catapulting out of the dream. He groaned, knowing there was to be no more sleep for him tonight and carefully levered himself out of bed and to his piano. Once he was settled, he let his hands go, let them play their tune. A mournful string of notes floated drearily through the apartment.

_The man loomed over him, his figure blurred by pain. House could see his ducklings and Wilson, all frozen in a horrified trance, standing behind the unknown shithead who had just shot him. He could feel his blood, wet and runny, escaping through the agony-producing hole in his side. He could feel his precious whiteboard, broken, splintered, cutting into his back. He glanced up dazedly, the man leered as he leveled the gun at House's head, "Who'd want to hurt you?" Before the sarcasm could register, there was a piercing, exploding, agonizing mass of red hot fiery pain in his neck "hey Wilson" he slurred drunkenly, "I can't feel my leg" He gurgled, attempting laughter, before the man turned the gun on Wilson "No!" gasped House. Then there was darkness, black and suffocating. _

House's eyes shot open and he managed to sit up jerkily before the pain hit. He moaned, his hand going to his side, his neck, his leg. Wilson stirred next to him, turning over and eyeing him blearily.

"House?" he questioned sleepily "everything okay?" He sat up, his eyes clear and worried

"What is it? House? Is it your leg?" House looked at him and smiled.

"I'm okay Wilson, go back to sleep." Wilson looked him over carefully, his brow furrowed worriedly over his warm brown eyes.

"Okay" he laid back down and closed his eyes "go back to sleep House." House smirked and lay back as well. As soon as his head touched the pillow he found himself with a chest full of Wilson. Yes, thought House, the nightmares still came, but now, well, they weren't so bad. He closed his eyes once more drifting into unconsciousness.

Outside the bedroom, his piano sat alone.


End file.
